Tyler

by Jo Raven

  ***

  After a while, a police car passes by where I lie passed out on the concrete. The cops shake me awake to ask if I have someone to call. I give them the finger. So they give me a ride to my apartment.

  The police. The system. Helping me out. I fall on the bed laughing so hard I almost puke again.

  And it isn’t even funny.

  Fuck everything.

  That sets me off again, and I laugh, rolling on the mattress. What the fuck?

  What do you really want?

  I bury my face in my pillow and struggle for breath. I want Erin to be with me. I want Ash to forgive me. I want to sleep without nightmares and I want… I want to be happy, too.

  But how? I was happy once, long ago. Maybe that’s the real reason I returned—trying to recapture that feeling, that state of carelessness, of freedom and joy.

  Stupid, Tyler. You can’t go back. It’s too late.

  Always too late. I want to give, but all I do is take. I want to live, but all I do is die a little bit more every day.

  I pull my cell from my back pocket to try Asher again. I need to tell him stuff. Get it off my chest. The phone rings and rings. What time is it anyway?

  The ringing stops, and someone answers.

  Holy shit. “Ash? Hey, it’s me. I need to talk to you… about me. About the time I left.” My voice is thick and slurs. I sit up and prop my back against the wall. I close my eyes because my apartment spins in slow, lazy circles. “I had to go. It wasn’t easy, leaving you behind. Mom said she’d protect you, take care of you. That it’d be best if I left. Dad said he’d hurt you if I came back. Do you understand?”

  I pause to draw breath, and I’m met by silence on the other end. “Ash?” I swallow thickly. “Are you still there? I want to say I’m sorry. God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I rub a hand over my eyes, but it does nothing for the blurriness. “Just say something. Come on, man. I thought I was protecting you. I watched you, and I thought you were okay. I didn’t know… Didn’t realize. I was so messed up I must’ve missed the clues. But now I’ve changed. No more drugs. I’m clean. Just… say something.”

  Silence stretches. Someone is breathing fast at the other end of the line. Then a woman’s light voice says, “Tyler?”

  Christ. I jerk as if hit by a live wire. Who is that, who did I call? Did I call Marlene by mistake? Or worse—Erin? The voice doesn’t sound familiar, though.

  “Sorry, wrong number,” I mumble and drop the phone on the bed. Fuck. Of course Ash wouldn’t pick up. It wasn’t him.

  Dammit. Can’t do a single thing right. Can’t fix anything.

  I clutch the pendant Erin gave me. What if I call her? I want to hear her voice so badly.

  Bad idea. She said she has her life. Her dreams. She wants to study and become a teacher. Truth is, she needs someone better than me.

  I fall sideways on the bed and let dark, dreamless sleep pull me under.

  ***

  The weekend from hell is over, and I’ve somehow survived it. Now it’s Tuesday evening, and I’m sitting behind the desk in Damage Control, focused and alert.

  Yeah, right. Truth is, I’m struggling to keep awake. It’s not working out so well.

  “Hey, man, you okay?” a male voice says over the low ambient music.

  It’s Rafe. I blink owlishly at him.

  “You look like hell warmed over. And I didn’t notice your hand. What happened?”

  I clench my bandaged hand, use the pain to focus my hazy thoughts. “Broke a glass. I’m okay.”

  Everything’s fine. Nothing to see here. Move along.

  But he hesitates. I swear the man’s got a sixth sense, like his buddy, Zane, and can smell problems a mile away.

  I look back at the computer screen and click randomly on the calendar, pretending to be busy. He’s good, but I’ve learned tricks to pass under the radar even when I want to shiver out of my skin and howl.

  “I’m going out with the guys,” Rafe says. “You’ll be okay closing the shop?”

  “Sure, no problem.” I keep my gaze on the screen, seeing nothing, as Rafe steps away from the desk. The doorbell chimes.

  “Hey, Ash,” Rafe says. “Good to see you, man.”

  Ash.

  The name penetrates the fog in my mind, and I glance up, my face twisting in a frown. It can’t be.

  Yet here he is.

  “Asher,” I mutter as I push back my chair with a screech and stand.

  He’s standing at the door, his brows drawn together. He obviously didn’t expect to see me here. A girl hovers behind him, her red curls framing a wide-eyed face.

  “We’re here to pick Rafe up,” Ash says. “We’re leaving.”

  “Maybe Tyler can join us,” the red-head says. Audrey. Ash’s girlfriend, I recognize her now.

  “He can’t.” Ash sneers at me. “He’s busy.”

  “But the things he said on the phone...”

  The phone? What is she talking about?

  Ash turns and takes her hand. “No,” he says, but his tone is much softer now. Affectionate. He really does care for this girl. “I said he can’t. Let’s go.”

  “Ash.” I stride around the desk, then stop. “Wait.”

  “What for?” he mutters, already turning away.

  Rafe’s watching us, as if undecided what to do. He glances from Ash to Audrey and back to me.

  “I came back to town so we could talk,” I say.

  “And that should make it all right?” Ash asks, not turning around. His back is stiff. “Is that what you thought?”

  “No, but if you just let me explain—”

  “No. I don’t want anything from you. I don’t want your explanations and I don’t want your money. Thanks but I’ll be fine without it.”

  Without you. I hear the message loud and clear. The ground feels like it’s dropping from under my feet.

  “Please, Ash.” My voice cracks, goddammit, and I clear my throat. “I want you to have the money. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Yeah.” He shakes his head, and without seeing his face I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “It is the least.”

  “Ash...” Rafe mutters as if in warning.

  “He wants to talk.” Ash’s voice is tight. “This is talking.”

  “Ash.” Audrey wraps her slender arm around Ash’s waist and sends me a wavering smile. “We can wait until you speak to your brother.”

  Ash turns around to face me. “Go on, speak, then.” His pale eyes flash. “I’m all ears. How come you up and left one fine day, leaving me with Mom who was dying and Dad who liked beating the crap out of me? Tell me. I can’t wait to hear it. ‘Cause, you know what, I wondered all these years if you gave a shit about me, or about Mom, and came to the conclusion you don’t. Am I right?”

  He’s almost as tall as me, his shoulders nearly as wide. But he has Dad’s wolf eyes and Mom’s mouth, and fuck, it’s killing me that he thinks I don’t care.

  “I had to go, Ash. I was sent away.” I cringe when the memory rises again like a bloody ghost, but I forge on. “Dad went off the deep end, and Mom sent me to stay with Uncle Jerry.”

  “Uncle Jerry?” Ash blinks. “In California?”

  I nod.

  “And afterward? Why didn’t you come back? What were you waiting for?”

  “It was safer for you if I stayed away,” I say, the words like cinders in my mouth. “Dad didn’t want me around.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not his son.”

  “Yeah, right. Did he have proof?”

  “He did a cheek swipe and checked the DNA. Then Mom confessed it in front of him, his buddy and me. It’s true.”

  Ash winces. “That’s fucked up.”

  Everything’s fucked up.

  “What about Mom’s funeral? Where were you?”

  “I didn’t know she died until months later.” That still hurts.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because Uncle Jer
ry was fucking high most of the time!” I realize I’ve raised my voice and force a long breath into my lungs. It’s hard. They feel compressed, not letting enough air in. “Self-medication, he called it. He had a friend who’s a doctor, and he provided him with all sorts of relaxants and other stuff. He was addicted to them.”

  As was I.

  “Mom sent you to stay with an addict?” Ash’s voice is incredulous.

  Yeah. I lick my lips. My mouth’s bone dry. “I don’t think she knew. Jerry was Dad’s cousin, not brother. She didn’t have much contact with him.”

  Ash grinds his jaw, makes as if to turn away. He’s obviously not happy with this conversation. “It makes no difference, Tyler. I know Dad beat you. Believe me, I know what that’s like. Still shouldn’t have walked out on us.”

  “He didn’t just beat me,” I hear myself say as if from a distance. These are things I’ve never told a single soul. Jerry took me to no therapists. He barely knew what was wrong with me. “When he got proof I wasn’t his son, Dad went crazy. He tried to carve me up.”

  “So you say. Why the hell didn’t you go to the cops?” Ash asks. “Why didn’t Mom go? Why the fuck should I believe a word you’re saying?”

  “Dad had buddies in the underground fighting mafia. He swore he’d set them on me—and even on you and Mom—if I breathed a word of what he did to me to anyone. For all I know, he kept tabs on me in case I talked until he died.”

  “Whatever.” Ash shakes his head.

  I have to make him understand.

  “Listen. He caught me by surprise. Punched my lights out, tied me up and gagged me. When I woke up, I found out he’d done a DNA test. He kept me tied for two days. He had…” The words stick in my mouth, don’t want to come. “He had an old boxing buddy with him, and they were both drunk as fuck. They kicked me until they broke my ribs. Then Dad carved my chest with his bowie knife and sliced me open. He said his real son wouldn’t flinch at the pain.”

  Ash’s face pales. “No.”

  “He almost killed me. I don’t think he’d have stopped if Mom hadn’t come down to investigate.”

  “Down? Down where?”

  “The basement.”

  “He kept you in the basement. And I didn’t notice?” Red spots appear on Ash’s cheekbones. His eyes glitter.

  He thinks I’m lying? About this? “You were hardly ever there. You spent all your time with Audrey.”

  Suddenly, he plows into me, shoving me backward. Caught by surprise, I stumble and crash into the desk.

  “You,” he snarls in my face. “You don’t get to say one fucking word about Audrey.”

  My brain’s obviously too slow today. “I only said you were always at her place back then—”

  With a crack, Ash’s mean right hook connects with my jaw. My head snaps to the side. The pain hits a second later, burning like fire, stealing away what little air I had left. I lean back against the desk.

  Fuck. My vision blurs. “Feels good, hitting me?” I give him the finger as I try to catch my breath. “Have at it, Ash.”

  “Fuck you,” he snarls and throws another right hook at me, which I manage to avoid—then an upper cut crashes again into my jaw and sends me down. I fall to the floor, my head throbbing.

  “She’s been here for me, as has Zane and Rafe, and you haven’t,” Ash is saying. “So keep the fuck away from me.”

  The sweet taste of blood fills my mouth, and then the worst thing happens: a weight settles on my legs, pinning me down, throwing me back into the past.

  “No,” I hiss.

  “Dad tried to carve you open, huh? I don’t believe you. Show me.” It’s Ash, sitting on my legs.

  I twist and buck, trying to throw the weight off as the memory closes around me, putting me back into that fucking basement. “Get off me.” I struggle to sit up, my breath so short I’m starting to panic. “Get the fuck off me.”

  “Ash, back off,” Rafe mutters from somewhere to my right. “Come on, man.”

  “Ash!” Audrey cries out, but nothing happens.

  No escape.

  Christ. This can’t be happening. I’m not there. I left. It’s over.

  Ash pushes my shirt up. “Show me, if you’re telling the truth.”

  “Screw you!” I struggle to throw him off me, but he’s not budging and my lungs are working overtime. “Dammit, get off.”

  The room is darkening, the walls warping. I swear I can smell blood and piss, and the knife is lifting over me, flashing. The letters carved in my chest burn. Dad’s pinning me down, muttering, his breath stinking of alcohol. My back arches off the floor as I try to move. Searing pain pierces my chest.

  “Ty? What the hell, man?”

  I can’t breathe. There’s no air. There’s no fucking air. I clutch at my chest, my teeth grinding.

  “Dammit, what’s this… Is he having a heart attack?”

  The goddamn weight on my legs finally lifts, but it’s too late to stop this. As the memory takes over me, I thrash on the floor, trying to get free.

  “I’m calling 9-1-1,” I hear Audrey’s voice close to my buzzing ears.

  “Tyler!” Someone is trying to pull my hand away from my chest. “Can you hear me?”

  I grasp blindly for something or someone to stop the slide into the dark. My fingers encounter a sleeve. I tug. “Don’t call,” I wheeze.

  “Do you have asthma? What is it?” Rafe’s face comes into focus, leaning over me. He frowns, then draws back a ways. “Fuck. It’s a panic attack, isn’t it?”

  “Panic attack?” I can hear Ash’s voice from my left.

  “Man, do you have Xanax?” Rafe leans over me again, a dark shadow. “What medication do you take?”

  “I don’t.” I gasp for breath. Black spots swim in my eyes. “Threw it away.”

  “When? You can’t just stop, man, not suddenly. The side effects can be worse than the original problem. They can kill you, you know that, right?” Rafe presses something against my lips. “Take this. Take the damn pill.”

  “No.” I turn my head away. No way am I taking a pill again, not after all I’ve been through trying to quit.

  “Come on, Tyler. When did you stop, yesterday?”

  I can barely spare breath to speak. “A month.”

  “Yeah, right. Whatever.” Rafe runs a hand through his hair. “Not funny, man.”

  When I don’t answer, he leans over me again. “Fucking hell, Tyler, are you serious? You went cold turkey a whole month ago? It’s a miracle you didn’t have a seizure and die. You’re one lucky motherfucker.”

  Through the haze descending on my mind, I wonder how he knows about such things.

  “Why did you stop the pills?”

  “To come back,” I gasp. Dammit, no air is entering my lungs. “To Ash. And Erin.”

  “Fuck that. Damn benzo withdrawal symptoms.”

  My body tingles, and my stomach churns. I think I’m about to puke my guts out. I try to grab for something as the floor falls away.

  “Tyler.” A strong hand grips mine. “Calm down, okay? Breathe, dammit. What do you need?”

  “Erin,” I gasp, her name filling my head. The one good memory in my past and present, my one bright light. “Erin.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Erin

  Tessa runs out of her building as I park at the curb. Her blond hair is pulled up in a ponytail like mine, and she’s dressed in ripped jeans and a long black sweater.

  Huh. That’s not her usual glamorous chic style. I wonder what happened.

  “So, where are we going?” I ask as she slides into the passenger seat.

  “It’s a new place, near the campus. You’ll love it.”

  “And the guys will be there?”

  She rolls her eyes, the crystal blue made more impressive with the thick application of black mascara and eyeliner. “Ash will be there. Don’t worry.”

  “I worry either way,” I mutter as I pull into the street. “That he won’t be there, or that he will be the
re and refuse to talk to me.”

  “Why would he? I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “He hates me, and he hates his brother. I bet he can’t wait to talk to me about his brother.” I huff as I focus on the road ahead. “How stupid of me to think otherwise.”

  Tessa gives me a light shove and grins. “Stop being so negative. Besides, maybe all you have to do is apologize. It’s this brand new ice-breaking technique people are using.”

  I grin back at her and shake my head. God, I must be out of my mind, going out with Asher and Audrey. I wonder if Tess is right, if an apology will make a difference.

  But I owe it to Asher anyway. Might as well get it over with.

  I glance at Tess. I’ve been seeing less of her lately, because she and Audrey have been spending some more time together, catching up.

  “So what’s up with the casual look?” I ask.

  She fiddles with the hem of her sweater. “Do you think…?” She swallows and looks away. “Like, when a guy might like you but is put off by your style…”

  “Are we talking about Dylan?”

  She flinches. “No, it was a general question, okay?”

  Sure. “So you’re going to change your style? In case he’s keeping back because he’d rather see you in second-hand cut-offs instead of what you usually wear? Like, that’s deep, huh? A profound affection, going as deep as the layer of your clothes. Yeah, that’s the kind of guy I’d go for, of course.”

  “Stop it, you…” Tessa snickers. “That’s awful. You just made me sound horribly shallow, you know that? Dylan, too.”

  I lift a brow. “Isn’t that what you were asking?”

  “No! What I meant was… What if a guy is put off by my life style? All the money, you know? Wouldn’t they feel uncomfortable if they didn’t have as much?”

  Okay, this is a more serious and complicated question. Because to say love conquers all and doesn’t care for social class distinctions and financial matters is a lie. We all talk of the kinds of strongest love that rises above everything, but sometimes… Sometimes the beginning can be rocky, and I don’t think Tessa is wrong to wonder. Everything about her screams money—from her fancy car to her fancy clothes and gadgets. Hell, her watch must cost more than my car.